


情無限: Love Beyond Limit

by skuldchan



Category: Jade Empire
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-15
Updated: 2007-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuldchan/pseuds/skuldchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This takes place with the Closed Fist ending.</p>
    </blockquote>





	情無限: Love Beyond Limit

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place with the Closed Fist ending.

The Empire. The city lights lit in concert as dusk approached, illuminating limestone-paved streets. Lanterns bobbed back and forth in the light breeze that blew through the city, lending their glow to the citizens as they went about their evening’s business. From a high balcony carved into the rock face of the floating Imperial Palace Emperor Ming surveyed his dominion, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the scene below him. Order. What he observed pleased him. To a traveler from any other corner of the Empire the Imperial City seemed no different than it had been five years ago—the city was peaceful, clean, filled with all the usual types of bustle, noise, and commerce expected of a city of its vast size. To a newcomer the city still amazed, farm hands journeying from remote villages still gazed upon the streets with widened, astonished eyes; to the citizens of the Empire, the Imperial City embodied wealth, opportunity, sophistication, and the privilege of living in the presence of a god.

The palace’s shadow hung always in the sky above the city, watching over the Empire through rain, shine and snow. Every morning the people stepped out of their residences and raised their heads to see the seat of the Empire’s power floating over them, the ever vigilant sentinel that assured them that as long as they were strong, resourceful, and self-sufficient, the opportunities and avenues they dreamed about would open up before them. That was the promise that drew the young, bold, and staunch men and women from remote corners Empire to part from their homes and seek their destiny in the Imperial City.

As darkness fell and the stars began to shine, Ming turned away from the balcony. The halls of the palace were well-lit, the stone walls polished to shine by lantern light. His footsteps barely echoed in the vast corridors of the upper chambers of the palace, where not even his personal servants or the highest ranked courtiers dared tread without permission—the private courtyard of Emperor Ming the Enduring Light.

The Emperor’s residence was intimate, small by the standards of the other halls occupying the palace. It was not like the great Hall of Heavenly Purity that the ill-fated brothers, Emperors Sun Hai and Sun Li had occupied during their respective rules. Upon ascending the throne Ming had ordered those apartments evacuated and they stood now empty, disused, a reminder of their futile struggles against him, and how it was their very actions that had brought him to power. The Emperor’s chambers, the Forbidden Courtyard, as it was known in the palace, was a simple cloister with but four rooms surrounding a small garden—just big enough for the Emperor and one other.

“Welcome home.” The door had barely creaked open when the voice spoke from somewhere deep inside the room, hidden in the shadows of candlelight. Aside from the Emperor himself, the only other allowed to freely enter or exit the Emperor’s residence was the Prince Consort, Death’s Hand, Sky.

Sky rose from his desk as Ming entered, bowing his head slightly in greeting. “My Emperor.”

There was a moment’s pause before Ming spoke. “That is an appropriate greeting for anywhere else in the palace, Prince Consort, but here, unnecessary.”

Sky cracked a wry smile. Of all the things that had passed in the five years since Ming had seized the Water Dragon’s power, Sky had not lost his sense of humor, nor his penchant for flirting with danger. “Very well then,” he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. “My love.”

“That is more acceptable,” Ming replied, his tone detached, neutral. He eyed the pile of papers scattered about the surface of Sky’s desk. “Reports?” he asked. “Anything of note?”

Sky shook his head. “Well, the Guild is in civil war again and there are rumors of a gang of bandits forming at Liang Mountain in the eastern provinces. Other than that, the Empire’s running smoothly.”

Ming considered Sky’s news carefully. Guild maneuvers were important to him—the Guild made up the majority of the underground, and it was vital to keep that particular facet of the economy under strict watch at all times. Sky’s informants had kept good relations with the current Guild Master up until his recent poisoning. Since Gao the Greater’s death five years ago, the Guild had been in continuous turmoil, and no Master had sat at the head of the organization for even a year before somehow—by murder, accident, or apparent suicide—turning up dead.

“And who are we supporting?” Ming asked.

“A man by the name of Qiu. He’s a clever one, but not enough to be a threat. He also has the support of roughly half of the Guild’s men, which may mean he’ll last longer than most.”

Ming nodded. There was no whisper, no word spoken in the entire breadth of the Empire that was too soft, too quiet for Sky to hear. Sky was his eyes, his ears, and his hand, which extended further into the darkness than he, as Emperor, could travel. Sky’s informants worked everywhere in the Empire, in the Imperial Army itself, in every village no matter how remote, in every shadowed corner of every city. If dissent, rebellion was spoken Sky would know of it, and the voice would be silenced the very next day, if not before. In the cities, the people watched their words carefully. The rule of a god-emperor left nothing to be desired—the Empire’s citizens were wealthy and comfortable in the protection their rulers. And if someone they knew were to disappear without a trace, well, they must have done something wrong to incur the wrath of the Lotus Assassins, or worse—the notice of Death’s Hand.

The title of Death’s Hand and the name of Sky himself were feared throughout the Empire, far more than the shell of Prince Kin had once been. People quaked at the mere mention of the Prince Consort, and everything that was evil, every friend or family that went missing, the citizens attributed to the work of Death’s Hand and his Lotus Assassins. Of the Emperor himself, the people spoke only in reverence, believing that his power and his wisdom had nothing to do with the underhanded tactics of his consort, though perhaps in their hearts they secretly believed otherwise.

“And the mountain bandits?” Ming continued.

“We’re watching them closely,” Sky replied. “If they grow too large, we will crush them.”

Ming nodded again. “And who exactly are these bandits?”

“Officials, mostly. Disgraced civil ministers and officers of the Imperial Army. In other words,” Sky finished, “the incompetent and the discontent.”

“That makes them extra dangerous.”

“I have my most skilled men watching them,” Sky said simply.

“Do not underestimate them,” warned Ming, his voice containing a hint of cold steel. “Peasant bandits are one thing, former officials are an entirely different matter.”

“Have you ever known me to be outwitted by anyone?” Sky asked.

Ming considered this, and then slowly shook his head. He approached Sky, shrugged off the outer layer of his Imperial robes and threw them on Sky’s chair. “No,” he replied evenly, placing a finger on Sky’s chest. “You alone I trust, but not anyone else, and that includes the men under your direct command.”

“Very well,” Sky replied. “If this escalates I assure you,” he said softly, slowly, “I will take care of it.” He gazed at Ming, his eyes reflecting a cold, hard flame. “Personally.”

Sky’s voice trailed off in a hiss, and the air grew quiet, tense—sinking with a thick, momentary silence. Something was felt wrong, something was missing. Sky rushed to fill the space between them and Ming met him halfway, a powerful hand cupping the back of his head as they crushed their lips together in a voracious, thirsty kiss.

Strong hands sat on Ming’s shoulders, curling around the collar of his last layer robes and peeling them away. Ming ripped the sash from Sky’s waist and reached under his vest, pulling on his garment so forcefully that it momentarily threw Sky’s shoulders back and parted their kiss. Sky shrugged his clothing off, discarded it on the floor. They were half-naked now and again they seized each other with rough hands, arms wrapping around each other’s necks and shoulders, so better to press themselves together—to squeeze, grasp, and bruise—to touch, to feed the heat that had risen so suddenly within them both.

Their ferocity was almost ritual; the Water Dragon’s power had not quelled Ming’s physical desire, quite the contrary. Ming's senses had become sharp, salient. He could hear voices where Sky heard only silence, he could see further beyond the horizon than Sky's mortal vision would ever pierce, and in love, of all things, Ming's feelings had intensified and Sky, though mortal, had become something that Ming needed—as companion, confidant, and lover. The pleasures of the flesh Emperor Ming felt most acutely, every stroke of Sky's hand, every touch of Sky's mouth was a pleasant sting of sensation—his gift and his curse. Night after night the Emperor lay with his consort and still, long after they had finished exploring every surface of each other's skin, long after they had already memorized the most sensitive, most erotic parts of their bodies, Ming found that he did not—perhaps could not—tire of their activities. And if Sky tired of it he said nothing, and every night he devoted himself as much, if not more, to the private pleasures of his Emperor and his love.

Though he did not need sleep, Ming discovered that he was most contented at night, when in the solitude of their own rooms he could hold Sky when he slept, guarding jealously over his slumber, watching over and ensuring his peaceful dreams. And on occasion Ming would enter those dreams himself, pour a portion of his essence into Sky's mind and there too they would lie together amongst the charred, ashen ruins of the Two Rivers School as simple men—just Ming and Sky—and watch in silence as imaginary white clouds passed the heavens quietly by.

Sky moved first, pressing a knee between Ming’s legs and forcing him backwards into a pillar, one of the supports of their small home. Sky started at Ming’s jaw, biting the bone there as he moved down, his tongue washing over the curve of Ming’s neck, lapping up the beads of sweat that had just begun to form there. Sky traveled slowly, his hands caressing Ming’s sides as he moved further and further down, past the last fringes of Ming’s tattoos at his shoulders, past the firm, toned pectorals, down the stomach and then further to his waist. Ming’s trousers fell to Sky’s deft hands as he sunk to his knees, glancing up once at his Emperor before reaching for his prize. Ming’s lidded gaze stared back at him in wordless assent, bringing one finger to caress Sky’s cheek before he nodded.

Sky started with Ming's shaft, pressing a kiss to the reddish, veined skin there before moving down. He opened his mouth around Ming's balls, lips caressing the curvature of the loose, wrinkled skin. When he moved on he let his hand take his place, cupping, stroking as he licked a trail along the underside of Ming's length, stopping when he reached the very tip. He took the whole head into his mouth. Sky sucked, one hand moving to grasp the rest of Ming's arousal, the other reaching boldly behind Ming's sack to finger his perineum. Ming's knees buckled as Sky caressed that spot, his fingers gracing it with just the barest touch as he suddenly took the entirety of Ming's length into his mouth. Slowly Sky withdrew, his tongue working the underside of Ming's shaft, the little nub of flesh where the two halves of the head joined--a place on Ming particularly sensitive to that sort of stimulation. With a smile Sky continued lapping there, one hand wrapped around the base of Ming's cock, pumping it in time with his rhythm.

Ming gave out a most unregal whimper as he felt every subtlety of Sky's ministrations, every echo of Sky's attentions from just a moment before, the touches reverberating, overlapping, building inside him until the brink of climax. And then Sky stopped, stroking lightly between Ming's legs, tongue wandering lazily over the surface of Ming's shaft. He waited.

Ming's eyes shot open, incensed, desperate. His breath was coming only in deep, shuddering gasps. His chest heaved, his eyes blazed with anger, desire, almost madness. He stared at Sky and the rogue stared back, licking his lips as he whispered his challenge to his Emperor.

"Finish it," Sky said. And then he found himself thrown onto the floor, his fall stopped only by the cruel jerk of his arms twisting behind his back.

Ming summoned skeins of fabric from out of the air—deep, rich scarlet silks cold as ice. They wound themselves tightly around Sky's wrists, coiled up his arms and wound around his shoulders, spreading his over his body a chill that he found strangely exciting. He was hauled to his feet a short distance to his desk and pressed to its surface. A brisk wind from nowhere blew all the papers onto the floor and prickled his skin as Ming forced him down, divested him of the rest of his clothing and ordered him to spread his legs.

Sky groaned as he felt Ming's cock press against his entrance, still wet and warm from his own saliva. His stomach fluttered as a firm hand settled on his hips, steadying him as he felt the beginnings of Ming’s intrusion. It was quick, Sky barely had time to wince before Ming fully sheathed himself. Ming paused there, fingers caressing the cloth wound tightly around Sky’s arms, admiring his lover beneath him, bound and helpless to his whims. Sky turned his head to look at Ming, noting the smirk on his lover’s lips.

“I think you could a use a little more,” Ming whispered. Tendrils of red silk slithered around his shoulders and twined around his neck. They crawled up further, caressing his cheek gently before winding around his eyes, enveloping him in darkness.

“Perfect,” said Ming. Sky waited, it was a terrible, long silence. He moved against Ming inside him, but the bonds at his wrist tightened their hold, and he stopped struggling.

Finally Ming started moving in short, efficient strokes. Strong hands gripped Sky’s waist, moving him along with Ming’s erratic rhythm, pulling him to meet the apex of Ming’s every thrust. It was a swift affair, and neither of them spared the effort for the little pleasures. There was no hand that snaked around Sky’s waist to pump at his erection, there were no words spoken between them, just the raw, occasional grunt and the sound of quick, shallow breaths.

Ming’s eyes rolled back into his head as he closed them, his chest heaving with exertion as he moved them both, his fingers digging hard enough to into Sky’s skin to bruise. His desire was building again from where Sky had last left him, taking its time. Frustrated Ming hurried, speeding up the timing and the strength of his thrusts, almost pulling completely out of Sky with each stroke. The desk shook against the power of their joining, creaking as Ming buried himself over and over again and Sky moaned, arching his back and tightening around Ming’s shaft.

Ming came, his voice a low groan as he bent forward and bit Sky’s shoulder, burying himself in deep in his lover’s scent as he twitched with each wave of ecstasy. Sky’s arousal was beginning to grow painful, what filled him did little to bring him to climax and littler still, he was sure, to fulfilling all of Ming’s needs. There would certainly be more to follow.

Sky found himself being jerked to standing, Ming’s voice behind him, his breath hot against his ear. Ming kissed him, worshipped his neck, biting at the skin as he spoke, his voice soft, sibilant. “The bed,” he said simply, arms circling around Sky’s shoulders as he pressed them close, let his lover feel the solid evidence that no, their activities this night were still far from over.

Sky was handled roughly to the bed and dumped in its blankets, his cock caressed by slick, satin sheets, drawing out a few drops of precum before sure hands turned him around. With a gentle touch from Ming, his bonds disappeared and he could see again. Seizing his chance Sky pulled Ming down to him, hands cupping his face as his legs wound around Ming’s middle, luring him close.

They stayed like that for a short while, limbs wound around each other in a knot of arms, legs, and lips, before their brief respite grew too long and their play grew too heated. Ming rolled on top, his arms spread out on either side, fingers tightly tangled with Sky’s. Ming paused, glanced to either side and sat up, openly admiring the naked, aroused body beneath him. Sky was still hard, the tip of his erection damp with a thick, clear liquid. Ming extended a hand to the air and summoned the blue sash that Sky customarily wore around his waist.

“I’ll have you,” Ming hissed as he bent down for a kiss, “just the way I want you.” He brought both of Sky’s wrists above his head and tied them together with the strip of cloth. He blinked and the ends of Sky’s restraints anchored themselves to the bedpost. Sky pulled on them, but they barely gave an inch.

Ming put a hand under Sky, supporting him as he tilted him up. Sky’s legs settled on Ming’s shoulders as Ming aligned his erection with the tip of Sky’s entrance. He entered slowly this time, for there was no fluid between them to ease the process and he wanted to take his time. Sky twitched with every inch that Ming buried himself, biting his lip to keep from crying out in impatience.

Together they moved, Sky pushing against Ming’s thrusts as hard as he could, his hands tied above his head and his legs dangling from Ming’s shoulders. Ming pushed forward and drew back in deliberate, deep strokes. He moved in slow, measured thrusts, sinking into Sky and then rising again, their breaths mingling in the space between them when they drew close. Desperation made them move faster, the need to bring this to a satisfactory end made them moan throaty gasps that blossomed from where deep inside their chests and rattled them on its way out. Encouraged by his lover, Ming finally wrapped his fingers around Sky’s member, spreading his precum along its entire length and as he worked it in time with their breaths.

The bed seemed to move with them, the sheets sliding back and forth with their motion, unbridled, wild like the winds that swept the palace. Ming drew out their coupling, slowing and almost stopping when he felt Sky get too close to climax, suddenly starting faster and rougher than before when Sky’s frustration reached almost to the levels of fury, glaring at his lover to pick up the pace.

Sky came first when he couldn’t hold it anymore, with a strangled cry and a final push against Ming. He curled up, his cum splashing all on his stomach and chest, mixing with the slick of his sweat. Ming came again shortly thereafter, when Sky was falling from the ecstatic twitches of his orgasm, his passage closing tightly about Ming’s cock and urging him to climax as well.

As Ming pulled out, the sash that bound Sky’s wrists fell, loosening automatically. Sky threw it aside as Ming rolled to the bed beside him. He wiped up the milky drops that covered Sky’s chest, bringing his fingers to Sky’s mouth before tasting it for himself.

Wearily, Sky settled in Ming’s arms as their bodies cooled, the sweat from their exertions disappeared, and the air grew chill from the nightly breeze that wafted through their chambers. As Sky drifted in and out of dozing he fought to remember if there was a time that he hadn’t been encircled by Ming’s protective arms, and though he knew there was, it seemed distant, unimportant. He was Death’s Hand now, serving his Emperor and his Empire, with all the Lotus Assassins for him to command. It didn’t seem so much to him then, as if his life could have taken any other course.

As the nighttime hours passed the fire in the fireplace burned low and despite their weariness, Ming and Sky slept little, Sky never leaving his Emperor’s embrace. He listened to the sounds of Ming’s heart, a steady, solid beat that he knew would be constant, abiding, as enduring as the Wall itself. As long as the Empire stood, Ming would be there, eternal and unchanging like all the other gods who populated the heavens. Thinking of it kept him up at night, even nestled so close in the arms of his dearly beloved. One day—Sky knew—he would die, and the one place the Emperor’s power could not extend was to the man who slept every night by his side. What then? Beset on all sides by potential enemies, without him, Ming would be alone.

Sky shifted, worry written all over his face. He closed his eyes, but sleep would not come to him.

“Something’s on your mind,” Ming said, suddenly. His fingers worked the knot of the ribbon that held Sky’s hair up, and when he did away with that, he combed through Sky’s hair gently, down all the way to the ends which fell somewhere below his shoulders. Ming bent low to meet his consort face-to-face. “Tell me,” he said fiercely, “I would do anything for you.” It was a confession Ming made rarely, even in the privacy of their own bed.

Sky paused, working up the courage to speak. Ming waited patiently, his eyes sharp, searching Sky’s gaze and drawing, willing the words to spill forth.

“I’ve often thought to myself,” Sky began, “what will you do when I die?”

A small smile crossed Ming’s face. He nodded slowly—once, twice. “I have thought of it often as well,” he replied earnestly, “perhaps about as much as you. There are many options,” Ming continued, his voice a quiet murmur, “and I have thought them all through.”

Ming wrapped a warm, tattooed arm around Sky’s shoulder and pressed a heavy kiss on Sky’s mouth. He whispered his response, his lips barely hovering in the space above Sky’s, his voice so muted that Sky could barely hear the answer.

“When you die, my love, it will be a torment only my presence can ease. I will take your spirit and bind it to your armor, and you will always be at my side and serve me forever.”

Ming rolled on top of Sky, pressed his weight into his mortal lover. Insistent hands cupped Sky’s face and pulled them together. They parted minutes after, chests heaving—panting, living, lusting.

Sky lifted his eyes to gaze at Ming, the first rays of dawn lending a holy, orange-gold light to the scales of the tattoos that covered his shoulders and arms. Sky searched his Emperor’s dark gaze and there he found order, symmetry, fate. His hands wandered up Ming’s sides, stroking smooth skin in hallowed reverence.

“I serve only you,” Sky whispered.


End file.
